


i will try

by juliabaccari



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/pseuds/juliabaccari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Enjolras falls ill during preparations for a political rally, Grantaire takes care of him. Angsty-fluffy, prompted by my good friend Caitlyn :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will try

Grantaire, as a general rule, did not worry. Worrying was for other people who were less skilled at drinking and debauchery and pervasive cynicism. People like Enjolras, who despite all his serious nature believed in impossibly good things with more conviction than anyone else Grantaire knew. In the fair-haired man’s mind, the world was cracked open for him to meddle with, to mold and change into a perfect vision of equality and progression. Grantaire, on the other hand, was well aware that people did not change, and they were not inherently good.

Well, except for Enjolras. 

Tireless and selfless to the point of insanity, the man in question lived his life in meetings at the Musain or in political rallies, striking across the campus waving banners that were taller than himself. At nights he was often found hunched over his little corner table, drafting plans and slogans and – beautiful, wonderful – speeches.

It mattered not whether Grantaire believed in those words – he only needed to believe in the silver tongue that spoke them, in Enjolras. And as keenly tuned to their fearless leader as Grantaire was, he was the first to notice that the man in question was not his usual…glowing self.

Er – well, he sort of was glowing, but in a distinctly unflattering sort of way, the sort of way that suggested –

“Are you ill?” Grantaire demanded, striding up to Enjolras and interrupting him in the middle of giving some sort of instructions to his second-in-command. Enjolras turned to him with the usual disdainful and impatient gaze, which was sort of a relief, except his eyes were definitely focused on a spot a little to the left of Grantaire. He knew this, because if Enjolras had been looking him in the eyes, his breathing would have gone a little funny by now.

“Grantaire, I am trying to explain to Combeferre that –“

“That you are clearly very ill and need to go home, so he should take over? Yes, I quite agree.” Grantaire paused, and then quirked a corner of his lips up, a teasing expression. “You aren’t looking quite yourself, Apollo, shining though you still may be.”

“…what are you talking about?” Enjolras was looking quite fed-up with him (though he suspected at least half of that exasperation to be fatigue; he usually had to do much worse to even attract Enjolras’s attention now) and Combeferre was raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“You’re sweating.” Grantaire dutifully pointed out.

“It’s hot. If you simply wanted to make inappropriate and untactful comments on my bodily functions, could you –“

“It’s January!” 

“He has a point…” Combeferre interjected, but drew back when Enjolras shot a glare in his direction.

“I don’t have time for this.” Their leader said, his voice coming out between clenched teeth, as though he were trying very hard to focus on each individual word. Grantaire’s eyes followed the blond’s hand as it reached out, clasping the edge of the table before him. His knuckles began turning white and it was clear that he was using the table to hold himself steady. “I have to finish the banners, organize the people into groups and assign slogans, I have to make sure they each get the correct pins and enough flyers and for the love of God will someone make the room stop spinning?”

Because his eye was so carefully attuned to every movement Enjolras made, Grantaire managed to dive forward and catch him as their leader lost his grip on the table. In Grantaire’s arms, the man felt almost like an inferno, he was so flush with fever. His concern left little room for studying the way Enjolras’s hands clutched lightly at his back, for admiring how their bodies seemed to press neatly together as though they were adjoining puzzle pieces.

Little room, but some room.

“Alright, we’re getting you out of here.” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras into a semi-upright position with Combeferre’s help. 

“Absolutely not.” The blond said, tone firm even as he held onto Grantaire to remain standing.

“Enjolras, you can’t even walk and Lord knows what temperature your fever is at right now – I’m taking you to the doctor –“

“You will do no such thing. I do not have insurance and I refuse to ask those parents of mine for money.” Enjolras blinked, slowly, then perked as if remembering something. “And I have the rally – I cannot leave the people!”

Combeferre laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of it, Enjolras.” He promised. “You need rest.” He looked to Grantaire. “I’ll send Joly over later to check up on you. He’s only pre-med and all, but he should be able to help.”

Grantaire nodded, and tightened an arm around Enjolras’s waist, starting to lead him out of the Musain towards his car.

“No – I can do this –“ Enjolras protested, and Grantaire did not – did not – inhale sharply as his hand flattened over Grantaire’s chest. “Look! I am doing this.”

“Really. What, exactly, are you dong?”

“I am waving a banner. Am I not…doing it?”

“Come on.” Grantaire sighed and half-led, half-pulled the stubborn man out the door, settling him into his car with minimal feverish protestations.

By the time he got back to his apartment Enjolras was half-asleep and humming the tune to OneRepublic’s “Marching On” – which was adorable, but a little disturbing, since as a rule Enjolras did not do things like enjoy music.

“Well, I hope that means you’re in your happy place.” Grantaire frowned with effort as he helped get the other man out of the car and up the walk. 

“What?” Enjolras answered, voice half-gone, like a spirit in the wind. “Where are you taking me?”

“My apartment.” With one hand he unlocked his door (years of coming home drunk in the dark had made him quite an expert on getting into his house, even with complications) and with the other he pulled Enjolras through. “I know you have avoided coming here for a terribly long time, and I’m sorry to break your streak, but you need a bed and I happen to know this place has one.”

“You’re taking me to your bed?” Enjolras sounded suspicious.

Grantaire paused, and cleared his throat roughly. 

“You need to rest. And we need to bring down your fever.”

“Actually, I’m okay. I feel quite cozy.”

“You are definitely not fine if you’re using the word ‘cozy’.” Enjolras was getting harder and harder to move, like a stubborn and drugged mule, and Grantaire found himself practically man-handling him to his bedroom. He tried valiantly not to think of all the places his hands touched, or of the infinite amount of fantasies he’d had of doing this on an entirely different occasion. 

When he finally sat Enjolras down on the bed, the man surprised him again by beginning to strip, causing Grantaire to go wide-eyed with mild panic.

“What are you doing?” He demanded, and Enjolras’s lazy answering smile almost knocked him off his feet.

“I am not a savage, R, sick or no.” Enjolras declared, his fingers slipping over buttons, slower than they should be but oddly graceful for someone so ill. And he was calling Grantaire by the nickname he normally considered ‘ridiculous’ and ‘childishly assigned’. (Enjolras did not like puns.) “I will not go to bed in my clothes.”

“…You sleep naked?”

Grantaire cursed himself. This was what happened when you didn’t think before you spoke. He braced himself for his leader’s derision and scorn – his ‘is that really appropriate Grantaire’ or ‘have you lost your mind asking me such a question’?

But Enjolras laughed – honest to God laughed. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked, eyes bright with fever, and slipped his open shirt from his shoulders. Without bothering any further with his clothing, Enjolras fell back onto the bed, languid. “I feel like the sun, R. Is this why you call me Apollo?”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “I call you Apollo because you are too good to be a man, and because you are golden-colored as the sun god.” He approached Enjolras and moved to the foot of the bed to slip off the man’s shoes. Normally he was not so openly sentimental with the blond. He preferred to doubt every feeling that was deeper than the pool of a birdbath and considered any romantic passion with a cynical eye, but when it came to Enjolras all bets were off. That, and he figured he could probably count on none of this being committed to the man’s memory anyway. If it were, he could just say he’d been teasing. 

‘Yes, Enjolras, I do worship at your feet, a God Among Men, for you are pure as the virgin goddess and as beautiful, too.” He pictured himself saying, grinning, a bottle of wine in his left hand – his heart clenched, and he shoved the image out of his mind. He’d long ago accepted that he would never be a serious person. Not even an impassioned one, unless it was about chasing the passions of drink and revelry. But then Enjolras had found within him some spark of the clarity and commitment that the blond himself embodied so perfectly. And tonight, Grantaire would rely on that little part of him to care for his leader.

He fumbled in his nightstand drawer for the bottle of ibuprofen he kept there, and was pleased when he managed to find his stash of water bottles wasn’t completely depleted. “See, I’m not useless after all.” He muttered to himself, grinning as he returned to the bedside. “Can you sit up? You should take this…”

Grantaire stopped messing with the bottle when he felt a hand on his arm. “I don’t think you’re useless.” Enjolras’s voice said, thick through the haze of fever but firm with conviction. 

“…pardon me?”

“You’re not. Useless.” Enjolras repeated, and Grantaire swallowed thickly as his hand travelled up Grantaire’s arm, gripping him by the shoulder and pulling him (with an unfair amount of strength for an invalid) to stoop over Enjolras. “You’re messed up,” Enjolras admitted, causing Grantaire to frown. “But we’re all messed up. What matters is you’re still here. You’re still by my side, even if you think it’s all bullshit, even if I don’t know why…” He drifted off for a moment, eyes sliding away, as if he’d forgotten he was supposed to be speaking. Grantaire made to pull away in that small pause, but the fingers around his shoulder tightened their grip at held him. “You make me try harder.” Enjolras said, and shock blossomed in Grantaire. “You make me think.” The hand on his shoulder relaxed, and suddenly it was on Grantaire’s cheek. “You are an irrational, cynical, impossible creature and the most infuriating Devil’s Advocate but - you give me strength. If I can get you to follow me, how can I fail?”

“You could never fail.” Grantaire said, breathlessly, the words pulled from his as if it were not his own voice speaking them. He was compelled to praise the god before him. “There is no one in the world like you, Enjolras. You can do anything.”

“I can’t fix you.”

It was like an enchantment breaking, and Grantaire pulled away, feeling suddenly nauseous. “Fix me?” He echoed hollowly. “Do you need to fix me?”

“No, no, R, no – “ Enjolras reached out, but his hand only brushed Grantaire’s as the brunet stalked away from the bedside. “I can’t make you believe – you follow me, but you don’t believe.”

Grantaire whirled around, feeling an abrupt rush of anger in him. “I don’t need to believe in anything else! I believe in you because you are the only good thing in this damned world, and all of the rest is just details, ridiculous and useless to me as a cloud!” Enjolras, eyes-half closed, didn’t look like he was entirely following. Still, Grantaire pressed on. “And I admire you more than I have admired any soul before. But you will not change me. You will not make me better. So if that’s the only reason you’ve kept me around – to see if I’m some miraculous case you can fix with the power of your will – then I’m afraid I am nothing to you.”

“Oh, R…” Enjolras’s voice was a murmur. His breathing slowed, a sure sign that he was about to succumb to sleep. “As if you could ever be nothing.”

Grantaire softened. “Apollo?”

“This is why I work on those speeches for so long. If I don’t get my thoughts in order, nothing comes out right.” Enjolras said, seemingly speaking to the ceiling. “You are so much more than you believe yourself to be. I only want you to…feel that. I want to make you feel better. So you don’t have to rely on …distractions.” Which was Enjolras’s diplomatic way of saying addictions, Grantaire supposed.

Slowly, Grantaire stepped closer again. “You can’t. Not in that way.” He shook his head. “Enjolras, I am not broken. And only I can choose to help myself.”

Enjolras was silent for a moment, and Grantaire began to think he’d drifted off, when the blonde reached out and this time managed to grasp his hand.

“I’m sorry.” He said, barely audible. “I’m sorry. R, please, I’m so…can you lie with me?”

His throat went dry. “W-what?”

“I’m so tired. Just for a moment? Until I fall asleep…”

“I don’t know -“

“I won’t be mad at you.” A delirious smile crossed Enjolras’s face. “I know that’s what you’re thinking. That I’ll be mad at you when I wake up. But I won’t. I’ve thought about it before, you know. About you.”

Okay, Grantaire had probably caught Enjolras’s fever, because surely he was hallucinating. Only that wasn’t possible, because Joly had told him the other day that all illnesses had incubation periods and they were usually at least 48 hours and –

“Grantaire, stop. Thinking is my job, remember?”

“…you have a point.” Still, Grantaire was slow and tentative as he removed his vest and unbuttoned his collar, unwilling to get quite as undressed as Enjolras but also unwilling to be in discomfort. Finally, he slipped off his shoes and laid down, fitting himself in awkwardly besides Enjolras. Very deliberately he left an inch of space between them. Grantaire knew better than to trust himself, and despite was Enjolras had said, he was not in his right mind and would probably not appreciate Grantaire attaching himself to his face once he was.

But the man’s wrong mind apparently had its own ideas, and after a moment Enjolras rolled towards Grantaire, draping an arm around his torso and letting his face come dangerously close to Grantaire’s neck. 

Frankly, Grantaire was beginning to think he ought to win a medal for his restraint.

“Enjolras, you really should take the medicine – and drink some water…”

“Shh. I need to sleep.”

Sighing, Grantaire let Enjolras curl into him, reaching a hand up to gently stroke through his hair. It was easier – just this once – not to argue.

And if there was the added benefit of getting to see what Enjolras looked like, asleep next to Grantaire in his bed? Well. Grantaire had never been accused of being selfless.


End file.
